


you were a kindness

by WonderTwinC



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:25:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 6,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4142847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderTwinC/pseuds/WonderTwinC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of ficlets circling around the relationship between one Nyssa Al Ghul and Laurel Lance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. things you said after you kissed me

“Fuck-” the word slips from Laurel’s lips without thought, her pupils dilated and her breathing somewhat uneven. Nyssa’s warm breath tickles the bare skin of her thigh as she chuckles, hands smoothing along the sensitive skin just under Laurel’s knees as she raises her head.

The corner of Nyssa’s mouth twitches in amusement. “Language,” she chides quietly, the look on her face positively sinful. Her toes curl in the sheets on either side of Nyssa as she rolls her hips, another wave of need and desire washing through her.  “Have you had enough?” she asks in a lazy drawl, looking positively smug.

Laurel’s fingers dig against the mattress as she rocks her hips up with abandon, her legs trembling. Nyssa’s smile is predatory as she lowers her head, pressing a kiss right above where Laurel wants her most.

There is a hunger in Nyssa’s gaze that sets her on fire. “No more teasing.”

Laurel’s breath catches in her throat when Nyssa’s mouth descends upon her over-heated flesh once more.


	2. things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear

“I think she’d like you to stay, you know,” Felicity glances over at Nyssa, watching as she dices tomatoes like a normal person would. It’s disarming to see the assassin at work in the kitchen, as though she owns this space just as much as she owns her arena in battle.  

Well, obviously not the space, the space is Laurel’s because they are in Laurel’s kitchen but - you know. Technicalities.

Nyssa takes a short breath and lets it out. “There is no place for me here,” she says, as if she’s had this discussion before.

Something tells Felicity that she has. “You’re Nyssa Al Ghul, well maybe not the Al Ghul anymore all things considered but you’re still - you’re still you. That has to count for something.”

The assassin’s fingers tighten against the handle of the knife she’s wielding before she places it upon the counter. Her expression is sharp and nothing short of disdainful. “And what would you have me do, Felicity Smoak, with my current skill set? Besides those that you and your team wishes to put away behind bars, there is no great need for someone of my history within Starling City.”

Felicity frowns. “I only meant-”

“I know full well what you meant, I am not an imbecile,” Nyssa’s eyes burn dark as she turns away, showing her back to Felicity. “The truth of the matter is that Laurel is better off without me in her life, as is this city. I am a harbinger of darkness and death. The life that I have led does not leave room for anything else,” Nyssa’s tone is icy and sharp, but her shoulders are hunched and her fingers are gripping Laurel’s counter hard enough that her knuckles have turned white.

Felicity swallows. She wants to touch Nyssa - to offer her some kind of comfort, but she thinks better of it. “You could visit,” Felicity hazards softly.

Nyssa’s shoulders shake, either from laughter or tears the IT tech can’t tell but when she speaks, her voice wavers, “I can see why Oliver Queen fancies you.”

“I’m a Goddess,” Felicity replies, successfully managing a chuckle out of Nyssa.

“Then perhaps, Felicity Smoak, Goddess, MIT class of ‘09, you can finish preparing the lasagna for everyone’s return.”

“You are so bossy,” Felicity grumbles in good nature, a smile on her face as she turns back to what she’d been doing before hand.

Outside the door to her apartment, Laurel stands with one arm full of groceries, the other trembling against the door handle. Her eyes burn as she tries not to give into her tears, feeling foolish. She knew that Nyssa wasn’t going to stay. She’s known that since the night they won back Starling City.

The truth is though, that knowing and accepting are to very different things, and she’s not ready for either.


	3. i just want your love tonight

And oh, how she hates herself for the way her hand shakes when she goes to reach for her phone, for the tightness in her chest that makes breathing a chore. Everything is falling down around her, around them, and she doesn’t know what to do. She’s not a leader, she’s not Oliver - and god, how she wants a _drink_.

She ends up calling Nyssa instead.

Laurel clutches the phone too tightly to her ear and the line is full of static that eats away at Nyssa’s voice but there is something familiar and warm and comforting about the way the other woman says her name. It washes over Laurel in waves until she feels nothing but exhausted and content and the desire for anything more than Nyssa fades away.

“I wish you were here,” she confesses softly, curled in the corner of her couch with the lights dimmed and the television muted in the background.

Nyssa’s soft sound of agreement and mutual longing, a low hum in the back of her throat, settles in Laurel’s gut.

“You will see me soon enough,” Nyssa promises through the static.

Laurel holds onto it like a lifeline. 


	4. slow and steady

"Laurel."

She returns to awareness slowly, her ears ringing painfully. The same voice as before calls to her again, firm and steady and familiar.

"Laurel, look at me," two fingers touch under her jaw gently, tilting her face until she's looking directly at the other woman. A smear of blood runs along Nyssa’s cheek, bright red and jarring.

Laurel goes to raise her hand, only to find that she can't. Her muscles refuse to coordinate with her demands, which is discerning.

She'd panic, she thinks, if Nyssa wasn't touching her, if everything didn’t feel so far away and muted. Nyssa has had to have removed her leather bracers and gloves, because her bare fingers brush hair away from Laurel's face and trail along the back of her head.

Gently.

Laurel draws in a sharp, shuddering breath when she touches a particularly tender spot.

Nyssa frowns.

"Stay very still, Laurel. Do you understand?"

She blinks once for yes, her voice trapped somewhere in her chest. Her muscles still immobile.

Nyssa carefully cradles her neck in one calloused hand. Her thumb brushes absent mindedly along Laurel's pulse, back and forth in a soothing, slow manner that has Laurel closing her eyes.

The ringing in her ears grows, drowning out every sound but the fluttering uncertainty of her own heart. She tries to fight the creeping darkness, tries to open her tired eyes again, but her chest feels tight and a sharp, stabbing pain is making itself known at the back of her skull.

She slides into unconscious once more.

\---

There are no ambulances. No hospitals.

Laurel wakes up once in the back of their van, John’s voice a steady buzz just below the rev of the engine. It’s mostly dark - light flickering in and out of the front windows as they speed past street lamps and businesses. She feels utterly disconnected from herself, like she’s falling or flying - when warm, familiar fingers brush against her cheek.

She can see Nyssa’s profile in the wavering light, her eyes bright and dark.

The smear of blood on her cheek still present, but chipped and dull.

"You're safe,” Nyssa promises.

It’s enough. Laurel drifts back into unconsciousness.

\----

Her thoughts flow through her mind like sand through fingers, so fast that she can't stop them, can't hold onto them. There is Sara smiling at her from a rooftop, Oliver with his back to her in the hall of her apartment building... her father shoving a bottle of scotch in her hand and leaving her standing at her sister's grave, Tommy looking at her with such love and determination as CNI fell down around them, Tommy saying I love you.

... and then there's Nyssa. Nyssa offering to share stories of Sara, offering to train her when no one else will, always offering her something. A word. A touch.

Strength.

She tries to hold onto them, all of them, but they slip through her grasp to leave her with nothing but the darkness for company once more.

\---

Laurel wakes up in a room. Not her room, of course, but one she knows just as well. The cold, sleek walls of the new team arrow hideout surround her, sparsely decorated except for shelves of books and maps and a camera in the far right corner.

Unsurprisingly, the space on the mattress beside her is occupied.

"You're lucky that the man wielding the bat was not properly trained," Nyssa starts off, her words quiet in the semi-darkness. “Mr. Diggle believes that you sustained only a mild concussion.”

Laurel chuckles, or tries to. Her throat is too dry and tight and the sound comes out resembling a strangled cough more than anything else.  It rattles uncomfortably in her chest. "Ow," she groans, squeezing her eyes shut.

Nyssa’s brow furrows in concern. "Careful," she whispers, her hand reaching out to touch Laurel's wrist above the covers. She squeezes lightly. "You still need your rest.”

Laurel nods, opening her eyes slowly. “Yes, Nyssa.”

The concern doesn’t leave Nyssa’s face, but her lips twitch into something that resembles a smile. Gentle fingers dance along Laurel’s face, brushing away a few strands of hair. “Are you mocking me, Laurel Lance?”

She smiles. “I would never.”

Nyssa laughs, the sound soft and rich and warm as she leans in, kissing Laurel’s forehead. “Go to sleep, dear one.”

Laurel reaches across her body to catch clumsily at Nyssa’s fingers. “Nyssa-”

“Shush,” the assassin whispers, her free hand squeezing once more at Laurel’s wrist. “There will be plenty of time to talk once you have rested.”

“Promise?” she asks, already beginning to feel herself fading again. The darkness creeps along the edge of her vision and despite having slept most of the night away, Laurel can’t seem to keep her eyes open.

Warm lips press against her cheek this time. “I promise.”


	5. things you said too quitely

Nyssa has to bite her lip to stifle the strangled noise she makes as she arches her back, tangling her fingers in Laurel’s damp hair. “Oh-” her toes curl against the sheets as she twists and shifts and presses one hand against the headboard to steady herself.

Laurel places kiss after kiss against the flat plane of Nyssa’s stomach, grazing the heated flesh with her teeth. The other woman trembles beneath her, mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like ‘please’.

She raises her head, teasing fingers dancing along the inside of Nyssa’s thigh. “I missed that, mind repeating it?” she brushes her thumb against sweat soaked skin, eyes darkening when Nyssa hisses and jerks.

“Laurel-” and oh, how it goes straight to the core of her when Nyssa says her name like that, drawn out and high pitched and so close to a whimper.

“I don’t think that’s what you said.” She traces her fingers lightly against a scar on the assassin’s right hip, dipping down to kiss right below Nyssa’s navel.

Nyssa exhales. It’s ragged and breathless and a definite turn on. Her fingers clench in Laurel’s hair. “I said-” she bites her lip, her knees digging into Laurel’s sides as she teases her with a single finger, light and barely there. “Oh, Laurel - please-” the last word comes out as a hiss.

Laurel hums low in her throat, lowering her head with a smile. “If you insist.”

 

 


	6. pretending to hate each other

“Fuck you, Nyssa-” Laurel hisses between clenched teeth, shoving past the other woman.

Malcolm watches from rooftop vantage point as Nyssa narrows her eyes, her fingers dancing along the hilt of her dagger before she clenches it tightly, storming off in the opposite direction.

His hopes that ordering Nyssa to kill in Starling City would place a rift between her and it’s so-called heroes seems to have worked.

He chuckles, the sound low and sinister and utterly pleased. Perhaps now he won’t have so much trouble controlling the former Heir of Ra’s if she has nowhere else to turn.

Malcolm watches until both women are out of sight before he abandons his post, making his way back toward the jet that is waiting to take him back to Nanda Parbat.

In a nearby alley, Laurel lets out a trembling breath as she meets Nyssa’s gaze. “Do you think it worked?”

She nods. “I believe that Merlyn thinks the board is now tipped in his favor,” she replies, stepping forward until she can feel Laurel’s warm breath ghost against her cheek. “You are a very convincing performer.”

Laurel huffs out a laugh, dropping her head. “It wasn’t that hard. Not so long ago there was a time when I did hate you, for what I thought you’d done to Sara… for what I believed you to be.”

Nyssa exhales. “And now?”

Raising her head, Laurel reaches out to grasp Nyssa’s wrist. “Now,” she whispers, looking up into Nyssa’s eyes, “now, there’s no one else I’d rather have by my side.”

 

 


	7. sparring

Skin slides against skin, creating friction where heat already exists. Sweat runs down her face and neck, pooling between her breasts as she takes a deep, stuttering breath. There is a fire in her bones. Desire in her heart. **  
**

She knows her partner feels the same, can see the burning in her eyes.

“Again,” Nyssa dictates, her voice steady despite the uneven rise and fall of her chest.

Laurel flexes her fingers once.

Twice.

Her next punch glances off Nyssa’s forearm, the sound of wet flesh echoing in the empty space.

Nyssa smiles.

“Again.” 


	8. slow dance

“Come on-” Laurel tugs at her hand, pulling at Nyssa with smile brighter than any star in the sky and how can she resist? **  
**

They end up swaying around Laurel’s living room - the radio a quiet buzz in the background as Nyssa twists her fingers in the soft fabric of the other woman’s pajama top and closes her eyes. There is a soothing rhythm to how they move - the gentle back and forth that accompanies the soft sound of Laurel humming in her ear. The warmth of her cheek resting against Nyssa’s. Her fingers skimming lightly up and down the assassin’s back.

And then she’s twirling - her hair whipping gently against her face and oh.

_Oh._

Laurel spins Nyssa and it’s  _freeing_ and she laughs until her eyes water and Laurel is laughing along with her, squeezing her hand as she pulls her back in. And her heart skips a beat when Laurel sighs, the sound soft and content and undeniably happy as they sway in place between the couch and the coffee table. 


	9. morning people

Nyssa burrows under the covers when she hears the door open, burying her face against the warm side of her pillow. It smells faintly of vanilla and strawberries and something else - something Laurel. The bed dips beneath a sudden weight. She groans.

“Good morning,” Laurel’s voice is soft and teasing, all traces of sleep gone. She rests a hand against Nyssa’s hip, leaning in until her breath warms the blanket. Nyssa can hear the smile in her voice. “Come on, sleepyhead.”

“You are insufferable,” Nyssa mumbles, rolling until she’s lying on her back and staring up into Laurel’s smiling face as she laughs, the sound quiet and warm.

“Well now that you’re awake,” she starts, “how about breakfast before I go?”

“I knew you had an ulterior motive,” Nyssa grumbles, but there is the beginning of a smile on her face as she shoves at Laurel’s hip half-heartedly. “Up. I need to get dressed if you expect me to take you to breakfast at this god awful hour.” 


	10. come out to the team

“You’ve been coming around a bit,” Diggle offers, glancing up at Nyssa. She’s leaning against a table in the back of their makeshift hideout, arms crossed as she waits for Laurel to change. He still isn’t sure about how comfortable he feels having her here, having her be somewhat apart of what they are doing, but Laurel has been more than a little vocal about his reservations

Hell, she still is.

Nyssa shifts, raising her head until she meets his gaze. “Is that a problem?”

John’s hands  become still against his sidearm. He narrows his eyes. “What keeps you coming back here, huh? You’re not married to Oliver, Ra’s is dead and the last time I checked Sara’s grave is on the other side of the city,” he ticks each item off on his fingers, standing straighter. “So what in the hell keeps you coming back to this place?”

“John.” His eyes snap up, catching a glimpse of Thea from where she leans against the railing of the upstairs level. Her expression surprises him. The reproach on her face reminds him of Oliver.

“No,” he argues, turning back to look at the other woman in the room. His expression is cold. “I want to know.”

“What is your problem?” Laurel’s voice rings out from behind him, sharp and cold and deceptively quiet. Nyssa leans forward, her eyes flickering over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the other woman. Laurel’s heels tap a loud, echoing rhythm against the concrete as she circles around Diggle. Her jaw is set as crosses to stand beside Nyssa, mirroring the assassin’s pose when she crosses her arms over her chest.  “She’s fought for this city just as much as we have in the last year. She doesn’t owe you an explanation. ”

John exhales roughly. “This doesn’t even concern you, Laurel-”

“If it concerns her,” Laurel replies, reaching out to grasp at Nyssa’s elbow lightly, “then it concerns me.”

"Laurel, it’s quite alright,” Nyssa interjects, her voice low as she keeps her eyes on him.  

“No, it’s not alright,” she argues, glancing at Nyssa. It’s an expression the assassin is all too familiar with, burning desire and determined passion. “You gave yourself up to Oliver, to your father for his family. You came back and helped us when it was a danger to you. So no, it’s not alright. It’s not alright that you,” she rounds on John, and she’s shaking she’s so angry, “act like she doesn’t belong here, that she’s not a part of this, because she is. Maybe she’s not like you or me or Thea. She can’t be here all the time, but when she is here she’s out there with us, busting her ass just like we do.”

Laurel exhales, her fingers curling against Nyssa’s elbow, squeezing gently. “What happened wasn’t Nyssa’s fault, John, and somewhere beneath all that anger at Oliver you know she was just as much a victim of what happened as you were.”

“And what, you’re going to be her knight in shining armor?” his voice is less sharp, less angry and more frustrated than anything else.

Laurel softens, lowering her voice. “That’s what you do when you love someone. You stand by them. You protect them. That’s what you’re doing right now. You’re being Lyla’s knight.”

John sighs, exasperated. “It’s not the same, Laurel. Lyla is my wif-”

“Holy shit,” Thea’s sharp inhale startles Diggle. He looks up, confused by her wide eyed expression as she looks at Laurel and Nyssa.  “She’s your girlfriend.”

“Partner - ”

The word echoes as both women turn to look at each other. There’s a faint blush staining Laurel’s cheeks, but Nyssa looks entirely pleased with herself.

“Well that explains something,” John grouses, looking between the pair.

“What are you talking about?” Laurel rounds on him, her expression reading confused curiosity.

“Here I thought this place was haunted, but it was just you two getting it on in the shower.”

Thea laughs, the sound echoing in the warehouse as Laurel chokes, her cheeks turning blood red. Nyssa hums, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

She looks like the cat that ate the canary.

Which, all things considered, is exactly what Nyssa is.

It’s strange to see her so… happy, to see her smiling at Thea, bumping gently against Laurel and for a moment his anger fades away and leaves him feeling… at ease.

Catching Nyssa’s eye, he nods, watching as she returns the gesture.

It’s not much, but it’s a start. 


	11. i thought i was going to lose you

The air between them has been strangely tense since she returned. Out on the streets of Starling everything seemed alright as they stood side by side, but here in Laurel’s quiet, dark apartment Nyssa knows that everything is not as it seems.  **  
**

Sleep refuses to come despite her exhaustion and there is an ache low in her ribcage. She can hear Laurel across the hall, the quiet creak of the hardwood beneath her feet - the click of a door, and knows that the other woman is just as awake as she is. It’s that knowledge that draws Nyssa from her borrowed bed and out in the moonlight hall.

The door to Laurel’s room is ajar.

Nyssa pushes against the wood lightly, listening to the hinges as the door opens slowly, her eyes adjusting as she looks for Laurel’s silhouette in the dark. She finds her perched on the edge of the bed in a tank top and shorts, her shoulders hunched and her head down.

She has never seen her companion look so vulnerable and oh how it suffocates her for a brief moment.

“Laurel,” her voice comes as a whisper, barely disturbing the air in the room. Laurel remains silent, her shoulders tense.  Nyssa takes a single step into the room. “If I have done something to offend you-”

“I thought I’d lost you.”

The words are so softly spoken that Nyssa almost misses them.

Laurel raises her head, but all Nyssa can see in the scattered moonlight is shadows. “I thought they were going to  _kill_ you, Nyssa. I thought -” her voice catches in her throat, a quiet, choked sort of sound that steals Nyssa’s breath.

She crosses the room in three steps and crouches down in front of Laurel with a practiced grace that she has known all her life. “Laurel,” Nyssa reaches out, catching at  both of her hands close and squeezing them gently. She gathers them against her chest,  letting the other woman feel the rhythmic beating of her heart as it echoes within.

A steady  _thump thump thump_. “You haven’t lost me, Laurel. I am right here. “

"For now,” Laurel whispers, her fingers clutching tightly at Nyssa’s until her knuckles turn white. “We both know that you’re not staying.”

The words hurt more than they should, more than she thought they would. Nyssa closes her eyes, running a thumb along Laurel’s knuckles with a quiet sigh. “No,” she replies, voice soft. “I’m not.”

They stay in the dark - Nyssa crouched before Laurel, hands tangled together. It’s a small but welcome comfort, one that Nyssa knows she’ll miss once she’s back in the cold halls of Nanda Parbat.

Just as she will miss Laurel and all her smiles. Her warmth. Her.

“Nyssa-” her voice cracks - soft and quiet and wanting and afraid.

“I know,” Nyssa whispers, squeezing Laurel’s hands again as the other woman leans forward, resting their foreheads together.

Nyssa wishes for morning to never come.

“It won’t always be like this,” she whispers, freeing one hand from between their bodies, touching Laurel’s jaw with calloused fingers, tracing a small path.

Laurel’s smile is wistful and sad. Her eyes say everything that she herself cannot. “One day,” she acknowledges, moving until her arms are wrapped loosely around Nyssa’s shoulders.

Closing her eyes again, Nyssa inhales the familiar scent of strawberries and vanilla.  "One day.” 


	12. accidental baby acquistion

She should be a bit more surprised, she thinks, but Nyssa knows Laurel too well after three years of sharing the same space. To be honest, she’s barely even curious when her partner comes home after being summoned away to the precinct with a car seat resting in the crook of her elbow and a small pink bag with baby ducks slung over her left shoulder. **  
**

If anything, Nyssa is wary. “Laurel…”

“Before you say anything,” Laurel shuts the door by bumping it with her back as she steps out of her shoes, leaving them by the entrance, “it’s only for a few days.”

“Laurel,” Nyssa repeats her name, her stare unwavering. It is a look that has made lesser men and women quiver before her, but Laurel only looks more determined in the face of her disapproval.

“I know - I know I should have called but there was no time,” she slides the bag from her shoulder and let’s it fall gently to the floor. She looks - sad. A determined kind of sad. “She literally has no one, Nyssa - not a single person. I just thought that it would be okay if we took her for a little while until Dad and the agency can find a home for her.”

Nyssa exhales. She tries again. “Laurel-”

“Please, Nyssa,” her girlfriend sits on the coffee table in front of her, setting the car seat down gently beside her. Beneath a fuzzy purple blanket, Nyssa can see the tiny, scrunched up face of the sleeping baby inside. Even from a distance she can smell the fresh, clean scent of baby shampoo. “Just for a few days,” Laurel pleads, placing her hands on Nyssa’s knees and leaning forward.

And she knows what she should say, that they don’t have the time, that right now there is too much going on, that their lives are too dangerous to invite something so small and fragile into their home, she knows all of these things and they rest at the tip of her tongue, but Nyssa finds herself leaning forward, cupping Laurel’s face with her calloused fingers.

One day, perhaps, she’ll learn to resist Laurel and all of her expressions, but today is not that day.

She doubts that tomorrow will be, either. Nyssa sighs.

“What is the little one’s name?” she asks and Laurel smiles, bright and shining, if still not a little sad.

She moves one hand away from Nyssa’s knee to reach over, stroking at the soft, slightly damp blonde tufts of hair on the baby’s head.

“Sarah,” she whispers. “Her name is Sarah.” 


	13. things you said when you thought i was asleep

Laurel laid beside Nyssa, her fingers drawing delicate patterns over the bare skin of the other woman’s back. There was something about the assassin that calmed the ever growing storm inside of her, that silenced everything that had ever caused her heartache. Laurel felt better when Nyssa was around, stronger. She felt like she could take on the entire world without reproach or fear. **  
**

She felt like herself.

She only knew three little words to describe that feeling.

“I love you,” she whispered into the darkness, tracing the words against the the back of Nyssa’s right shoulder blade in a delicate, looping script. “I love you and it terrifies me that I could lose you,” she kissed the same shoulder, exhaling softly.

“So please,” Laurel’s warm breath ghosted against her assassin’s skin when she spoke, her cheek resting against her shoulder, “stay… just… stay.”

Laurel closed her eyes, her arm resting low on the other woman’s back.

Nyssa stared at the far wall for a moment before she closed her own eyes with a smile.


	14. private paradise

The soothing sound of waves crashing against the shoreline lulls them to sleep. Ensconced under the shade of two rather large trees, hidden out of sight behind their small house, it’s their own private paradise.

Nyssa catnaps with her face buried in the crook of Laurel’s neck, sprawled out on top of the other woman like a large jungle cat. She’s heavy and warm but familiar, her hair smelling of strawberries and something else. Something that is just... _Nyssa._

Sometimes Laurel forgets to breathe when she tries to take it all in, the here and the now, the woman wrapped in her arms and how far they’ve come, but the former assassin’s breathing is slow and even and much like the ocean waves at the opposite end of their private beach it has a calming effect. 

Nyssa’s bare feet brush against her shin, her knee coming up to frame Laurel’s hip. Her fingers flutter against the bare skin of Nyssa’s back before her arms wrap around her, fitting their bodies more tightly together. Her lover stirs but does not wake, content just where she is. Much like Laurel herself.

She closes her eyes, then, giving herself over to the gentle sway of their hammock... and she smiles.


	15. accidents happen

Nyssa knows the moment that she lets go of Laurel’s arm as she throws the other woman to the mat that she has made a grave mistake. The angle and speed feels all wrong and a sudden tightness overcomes Laurel’s features just before her back makes impact with the mat and all the breath is forced from her lungs. Nyssa stands her ground as Laurel inhales slowly once, twice - and then tries to lever herself up with her hands.

The flush drains from her cheeks when she tries to place pressure on her left wrist and the tightness from before creeps back onto her features, making itself known around her eyes and mouth. Nyssa’s brow furrows in concern even as Laurel grimaces, the right side of her face screwing up somewhat comically in the process.

“Ow,” she grumbles, shifting into a sitting position even as she raises her left arm. Her wrist is already red and swollen and looks tender.

Nyssa frowns, crossing the short distance between them. She drops into a crouch beside Laurel, reaching out and gently touching the other woman’s injured wrist with careful, hesitant fingers. She explores the injury as she has been taught, but her touch is painstakingly light. Her thumb grazes the bottom of Laurel’s palm as she marks the swelling, tracing the damage that she has caused.

There is a small hitch in Laurel’s breathing as her fingers brush a particularly tender area.

“My apologies,” Nyssa whispers, starting to withdraw in fear of hurting the other woman even more. Laurel chuckles softly, the warm sound washing over Nyssa as her companion reaches up, using her right hand to keep her from pulling away.

“There’s no reason to apologize, Nyssa,” she states, squeezing her fingers lightly. “Accidents happen, you know? Besides,” she gently rotates her left wrist and this time her face only scrunches up a little as she lets out a gentle puff of breath, “it barely even hurts anymore.”

It’s frustrating, Nyssa thinks, just how endearing she finds the other woman’s expression despite the circumstances. “You are very… full of it,” she replies carefully, remembering a phrase that she’d heard Sara utter more than once when she was injured and had told her Beloved that it was nothing.

Laurel laughs then, squeezing her fingers again as she smiles.  “You’re probably right,” she admits after a beat, her features softening the longer she stares at Nyssa. “I do have a proposal, however.”

“I am not sure that we know each other that well,” Nyssa says, trying to sound serious, but a small smile tugs at her lips as she stands, keeping hold of Laurel’s right hand to help her to her feet as well.

“Oh, _now_ you’re a comedian,” Laurel replies, rolling her eyes teasingly.  The smile never leaves her face as she rolls her shoulders, working out the residual ache from where she landed on the mat.

Nyssa just hums, watching the other woman as she arches a single eyebrow in question. She’s smiling, however. “Where is my promised proposal?”

“I’m pretty sure I have a cast back at my apartment from when my Dad got his wrist slammed inside a door on a case a few years back. How about we go pick it up and then you can buy us something to eat?”

Nyssa lets out a soft, quiet chuckle, nodding her head after a moment. It is the least she could do, after spraining the other woman’s wrist. Besides, she _is_ hungry.

“To your apartment, then.”

Laurel smiles, bumping Nyssa’s shoulder lightly as she passes her, going to grab her bag on the other side of the room.

Nyssa watches her go, feeling a familiar warmth spark inside her chest.


	16. a goodbye kiss

Laurel woke to the quiet sound of rustling sheets and the warm, gentle brush of Nyssa’s lips against her cheek. She opened her eyes to a semi-dark room somewhat illuminated by the muted orange glow of light outside the heavy curtains that signalled the approaching sunrise. It was not the first time she’d awaken to Nyssa’s impending departure, always before the sunrise and always before her alarm, but the emotions from the night before had carried over into the dawn and the lump returned to her throat as she laid there.

Silent.

Familiar, calloused fingers brushed back the hair that threatened to fall into her face - lingering against her cheek for longer than neccessary. Her heart thrummed erratically in her chest as Laurel felt Nyssa lean down behind her, hot breath ghosting across the shell of her ear.

“Ana ihibbuki,” she whispered, sending chills down Laurel’s spine. There was a hesitation, a nervousness that wove itself into Nyssa’s voice as she spoke. The words were the same two that had been muffled against her bare skin hours before, full of longing and sadness and something else that Laurel couldn’t quite put her finger on.

The bed shifted behind her as Nyssa pulled away. She listened to the quiet sounds of the other woman gathering her things, the way her boots sounded different on the hard wood than her bare feet. The apartment seemed emptier as Nyssa opened the door of their bedroom and Laurel squeezed her eyes shut, heart aching at the quiet click when it closed.


	17. scars

A street lamp shines in through the bedroom curtain, leaving the bedroom in a strange half-light. Nyssa feels Laurel’s hand smooth down her back, the touch light and soft as she drifts in and out of sleep. Calloused fingertips trace idle designs against her bare skin and there is a warmth that settles in the pit of Nyssa’s stomach. She smiles to herself as she feels Laurel’s palm graze the middle of her back, the touch bold and unafraid.

She’s close to drifting back to sleep when her lover’s fingers gently trace across what she can reach of her left hip. Laurel’s thumb brushes against the slightly raised skin she finds there (a scar from when Nyssa was but a child and ended up on the wrong side of her father’s hand) and realization slowly dawns upon Nyssa. She’s more awake when Laurel starts her pattern of light touches once more, realizing now that the other woman’s touches are not idle, whimsical designs.

Her fingers brush against one scar, and then another, tracing out their path along with many others.

Nyssa feels a small lump form in the back of her throat at the knowledge that Laurel is committing her imperfections to memory just as easily as she has her favorite places to be kissed or touched, the foods she likes to eat and the places within Star City that she feels most comfortable.

The warmth from earlier turns and twists into a spark as Nyssa rolls over halfway, her eyes meeting Laurel’s in the half-light. No words are needed as she leans up, her lips pressing to Laurel’s with all of the affection she feels deep within her heart. Perhaps they are not guaranteed a lifetime together. Perhaps they are not even promised a tomorrow, but as Nyssa eases Laurel back down on her bed, the sheets tangling around their lower bodies as she deepens their kiss, she plans to make the most of tonight.


	18. her joy was complete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Laurel and Nyssa babysit for John and Lyla.

Laurel smiles, watching as baby Sara comes stumbling across the room at full speed, knocking herself into Nyssa’s crouched form with a loud, giggling laugh. Her heart swells with love as Nyssa cuddles the child closer to her chest, burying her face in Sara’s soft baby hair.

“She really likes you,” Laurel offers, leaning back on the couch behind them. As if to prove her point,  Sara’s small, chubby arms attempt to wrap themselves around Nyssa’s neck in her version of a hug.

Nyssa’s bright smile creates butterflies in Laurel’s chest. “So it seems,” the former assassin mutters softly, squeezing the child with care.

Sara squeezes back, gurgling as she bounces on unsteady legs. “Up, up, up.”

Nyssa complies, picking up Sara in one fluid motion as she stands with one arm curled beneath her and the other hand resting on her back. Despite claiming to have no real experience with children, Nyssa handles Sara with the utmost care and some expertise.

It’s endearing, among other things.

Laurel pats the empty cushion next to her, grinning as Nyssa takes her invitation and plops down with a little more force than necessary. Sara laughs as she’s bounced within the safe circle of Nyssa’s arms, clapping her hands together with a semi-toothless grin.

“Okay monkey,” Laurel scrunches up her face as she reaches out, fingers ghosting lightly against Sara’s sides, tickling her until she’s squirming with laughter. “It’s time for your bath.”

Nyssa relaxes the protective circle of her arms as Laurel scoops Sara up, complete with airplane noises. Laurel carries the little girl down the hallway to the bathroom, leaving the door open behind them. Nyssa can hear their quiet laughter and the happiness in Laurel’s voice as she coaxes Sara out of her clothes until the sound of water drowns them out.

She picks up the living room, placing the child’s toys back where they go and straightening up the cushions of the couch. She’s folding one of the many blankets they made use of earlier when Laurel comes out of the bathroom with a towel bundled little girl in her arms.

The front of her shirt is soaked in water and Nyssa ducks her head in an attempt to hide her sudden smile. Laurel chuckles at the gesture, the warm laughter soft and familiar. It settles low in Nyssa’s gut like most things Laurel does, leaving a heat there that promises of things to come.

“Want to help me put her to sleep?”

Nyssa nods and follows Laurel down the hall to Sara’s room. The room itself is painted in shades of pinks and purples to match a small bookshelf and the small bed that is pressed against one of the walls. Laurel is in the middle of dressing Sara in her pajamas which consist of a yellow and white onesie with a brown haired princess on the front when she walks in. There is a quiet bargain between child and adult as Laurel tucks Sara into her bed with the promise of one story from her bookshelf.

She leans against the wall and watches as Laurel pulls out the requested story, a thin book titled ‘Oh, The Places You Will Go’, and settles on the edge of Sara’s bed. Laurel’s voice is perfectly suited for reading aloud, whether it be legal documents or a children’s book. Nyssa listens without hearing, more focused on the picture of Laurel perched on the edge of the small pink bed and Sara fighting sleep to hear the entire story, and it’s far too easy to imagine the little girl in the bed belonging to the both of them.

Nyssa struggles to cage the thought before it grows out of hand, swallowing it down with a hundred other thoughts and words and futures that aren’t quite ready to be had just yet.

Still, the quiet echo of someday remains, coloring her present and slowly creating their future as she closes her eyes and let’s the warm, soft voice of the woman she loves wash over her.


End file.
